


Little Things

by SpyderScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR, Mulder x Scully, Season/Series 07, The Season of Secret Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpyderScully/pseuds/SpyderScully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with little things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScullyLovesQueequeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyLovesQueequeg/gifts).



Oddly enough, it had all begun because he had forgotten to set the alarm. He had felt terrible about it; he knew she always liked to regroup at her own apartment when she spent Sunday night. 

  
"I'm sorry, Scully - I thought I'd set it an hour early." 

  
"It's okay, Mulder." She had murmured, her voice muffled by his pillow, "I still have time to get ready."  
  
*        *        *  
  
Every other Wednesday he found himself slipping candy bars from the basement vending machine onto her desk. Not the coconut kind she merely tolerated, no—the gooey, fun-sized bars filled with nuts and nougat and caramel. She complained every time, stating she didn’t need the additional calories, but he would always find the empty wrapper ripped open and crumpled in her garbage can the next day.

*        *        *  
  
After a particularly frustrating and disheartening case, he had grumpily returned to their office to complete some last minute paperwork. Her expertise hadn’t been required for the investigation and as a result he had found himself impatient and irritable with everyone with whom he’d come in contact. As he had stomped over to his computer he had realized she had already gone, but there was a note tacked to his computer monitor:  
  
_“Left early because there was no one around to drive me nuts - if you need anything call me, I’m home tonight. —S”_  
  
Instead of crumpling the note and tossing it, he’d slipped it into his drawer.  
  
*        *        *  
  
One cool Friday night she had asked him to stay the weekend. Surprised and a little anxious over her request, he had hesitantly agreed. Saturday they had gone out to breakfast, then they had driven to the National Arboretum where they had walked until they were drunk with sun, starved for food, and their feet ached. They drove back to Scully’s place where she had quickly thrown together a casserole. He had assisted with dessert, laughingly giving her two more scoops of Fudge Nutter ice cream than she had requested while she protested and ate it when a smile.  
  
Sunday morning he had made the mistake of telling her he would be glad to help her with housework, and to his chagrin she had taken him up on it, giving him dusting and vacuuming duties as she scrubbed at the oven. When dinnertime rolled around she had wanted to make him dinner, but he insisted on buying them take-out, one because she had done enough work, and two, he wanted to reward her for making the housecleaning venture enjoyable. When she had fallen asleep against him while they watched AMC, he had longed to carry her to bed, but instead settled for gently guiding her to her bedroom.  
  
“This was nice.” She had sleepily murmured as they lay wrapped in her sheets, her breath brushing over his chest as her head rested on his shoulder. He had stroked her back in agreement.  
  
*        *        *  
  
One afternoon while they had been pouring over records and reports, she had suddenly tossed her pencil across the room in frustration, her face crumpled in pain as she rubbed at her neck in clear aggravation. Without a word he had stood up, stepping behind her and gently working out the knots and tension in her shoulders, softly pressing a kiss to her hair.  
  
*        *        *  
  
“One of these days I’m taking you to Yellowstone.” He had told her eagerly when she had admitted to never going camping as a kid, “We’ll go sight-seeing and hiking and riding, and we’ll stay in a cabin…you’ll love it, it’s an absolutely beautiful place.”  
  
He had backtracked almost immediately and very sheepishly.  
  
“Would you want to do that? Take a vacation together someday?” The eager expression on her face had struck him as one she would have given as the outdoorsy little red-haired girl who had never gone camping and had just been told she was going to.  
  
“Very much so.” Had been her smiling response.  
  
*        *        *  
  
One morning he had woken up to a tickling sensation at the back of his head. Perturbed, he had turned around to see her propped on her elbow, watching him and running her fingers absently through his bed tossed hair. The look on her face had been so open and so emotional, he had been unable to speak, instead asking her with his eyes. She had shrugged, smiling almost sheepishly.  
  
“I love your hair.” She had confessed.  
  
*        *        *  
  
“Are you all right?” Her voice had worriedly asked over their phone lines one warm night after having gone their separate ways only hours before.  
  
“I just wanted to hear your voice one more time tonight.” He’d softly confessed. She didn’t address his statement, but he couldn’t miss the warm, contented tone that coated her voice as they continued to talk.  
  
It wasn’t until he ended the call forty-minutes later that he realized how much joy he received just by hearing her whisper “good night”, be it over the phone or while she lay warm and rumpled beside him. He chuckled to himself almost embarrassedly, tossing his phone onto the couch and shuffling his way stiffly to his bedroom. He didn’t sleep on the couch anymore - it didn’t smell like her the way his bed did.  
  
So many little things had turned into the greatest thing of his life.


	2. More Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It continues with little things.

She’d just stepped late into the office from running some unavoidable errands in the morning. She had felt frazzled, a little stressed, and more than a tad annoyed that her partner had been nowhere in sight. She had tossed her bag wearily on the table that served as her “desk” and had let out a few low-key grumbles at Mulder’s “insufferable disregard for time” before remembering he had mentioned the afternoon before that he had a meeting with Skinner.  
  
She had been about to trudge her way to the coffee machine when something by her monitor had caught her eye. A small plastic alien toy and a generic greeting card (without an envelope) had been propped up against her keyboard. She had instinctively known who had written it.  
  
She’d fiddled with the toy for a moment between her fingers, and had found herself almost timidly avoiding reading the words before she had finally picked up the piece of folded card stock.  
  
Inside had been Mulder’s distinct handwriting, with the words: “You know I’m bad at writing what I feel, but hopefully you know what this day means to me. Thank you. With love, M”  
  
Scully had already known the date, but she had cast a glance at the calendar just to be sure, anyway.  
  
March 6th.  
  
The stress and irritation had miraculously vanished.  
  
*        *        *  
  
Within only a few months of sleeping together, she had caught on that Mulder was a post-sex snuggler. It hadn’t really surprised her when she had discovered this fact, but having had partners decidedly less demonstrative, and being a less demonstrative person herself, it had been a bit disjointing at first. Mulder had lately taken to adding a few absent touches in addition to the spooning, either running his fingertips up and down her upper arm, or gently petting the soft hair between her legs while he held her.  
  
“Am I smothering you?” He had asked at one point. She had snuggled her behind closer into the cradle of his hips in response.  
  
“Actually no, Mulder. I like this.”  
  
He had chuckled, his breath ruffling the hair at the back of her neck.  
  
“I hadn’t pinned you as a spooner, Scully.” She had glanced over her shoulder to give him a grin.  
  
“I’m not,” she’d smiled, “but as of late, a convert might be in development because of you.”  
  
*        *        *  
  
“What are you thinking about?” She had once inquired curiously over a late breakfast in their office, the intent look on his face giving her pause. He had finished swallowing his coffee before he had answered.  
  
“Marriage.” He had stated simply but frankly. He had set his mug back down on the desk, his elegant, masculine hands busying themselves on the keyboard again although his face had remained passive. She had been unable to prevent the skeptical chuckle that had escaped her throat.  
  
“I thought you didn’t believe in marriage, Mulder.” She had said, not without affection or understanding. This discussion had come up a few weeks prior, and it was something she had willingly accepted. It made sense, given his family history and previous relationships with women.  
  
“That _used_ to be the case.” His typing had stopped again and the look that he gave her had made her entire body break out into goosebumps beneath her suit.  
  
*        *        *  
  
“What’s your favorite part of me?” Scully had asked one evening, inebriated enough to have had a brief and uncharacteristic surrender to her vanity. She had had more to drink than Mulder, which had resulted in she doing much of the talking and laughing and he doing most of the listening and smiling.  
  
She had figured on a typical answer from him—maybe her eyes, her smile, perhaps even her hands or her voice. Something predictable but delivered in such a way that it wouldn’t feel predictable at all.  
  
To her surprise, he had replied with none of those things; in fact, he had said nothing at all. Instead, with a soft look in his eyes and a reflective smile, he had briefly stepped behind her, brushing her hair away from the back of her neck. Before she had had a chance to tipsily ask him what he was doing, he had pressed a loving but firm kiss to her vertebrae, right over the tiny bump that contained her chip.  
  
“This part. Right here. This gave you back to me.” He murmured throatily.  
  
*        *        *  
  
“Who is Robert Heft?” Mulder’s voice had come from the direction of of the kitchen. For the fourth or fifth time Scully had turned, an expression of curiosity and wonder on her face. For the past several minutes Mulder had been absently responding correctly to every Jeopardy answer that had arisen, despite not even being in the living room with Scully.  
  
 _I’ll take Language for 400, Alex._  
  
 _The word for a distinct vehicle that is universal across ten different languages._  
  
“What is ‘taxi’!” Mulder had called out before any of the buzzers had even sounded. He had glanced over to where Scully had been snuggled into the couch, his face immediately self-conscious when he had realized she was looking at him.  
  
“Sorry—” he had begun to say. She had shaken her head, allowing a gentle smile to spread across her face.  
  
“Don’t be. Sometimes I’m just reminded of how brilliant you are…it never fails to amaze me, Mulder.”  
  
The shy pride and pleasure that stole over his face had made Scully’s heart clench.  
  
*        *        *  
  
 _All these little things…_ She thought absently, _All these little moments welding together to create something so good…_  
  
Scully felt relaxed, drowsy, and almost inconceivably content lying beside him in bed while he sat upright against the headboard. Carson was on, and whilst it would appear from an outside perspective that Mulder was ignoring her and focusing on the television, his hand was resting on her back as she lay pressed against his side. His fingers trailed absently back and forth across her skin, still warm and moist from her recent shower, in a pattern that over time she had come to recognize as an expression of his desire to make love to her. She would be receptive, as she almost always was when he wanted her. She could _be_ receptive, now.  
  
He seemed hesitant about something tonight, but she didn’t press him, and was glad when he brought the subject up himself.  
  
“Scully, I know we’re not ready yet,” His voice was deep in his throat, his cautious pacing betraying his hesitance, “but I want you to know I intend to marry you someday.”  
  
The pleasant sensation that washed over her had little to do with the warm hand still absently stroking her back. She was surprised to find herself more than a little choked up, and her voice had an uncharacteristic waver when she next spoke:  
  
“Mulder?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I want you to know I intend to say yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the “Do we have to put a label on it?” line from “Can I Have This Dance” by @ScullyLovesQueequeg.


End file.
